Gemotions

He had always dreamt of this. A restaurant, a star, recognition. Now Chef Bruno stared at the review. The critic had called his food "pretentious fluff". He felt a red hot poker of shame in the center of his chest. He stood perfectly still, then let out a sharp, involuntary yelp.

He retreated into the cool room, away from the heat and the sounds of the bustling service. He needed to be alone. He began to bite at the skin around his nails. It tasted of nothing. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them, hard.

He moved quickly, then, pacing the tiny room, his hands clasped behind his back, as if attempting to contain an explosion. He felt trapped. He felt exposed. He felt everything.